


The Questions We Don't Ask

by Lady_Impala



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Be patient, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual relationship, Gaslighting, M/M, Psychological Torture, Spoilers, Torture, poor decision making
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-27 00:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16691791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Impala/pseuds/Lady_Impala
Summary: ***SPOILERS FOR THE NEW FB MOVIE, TREAD CAUTIOUSLY***Credence has made his choice, and now must deal with the consequences of his actions. But what he thought was true... may not be the whole story. Life comes down to what we ask, and when. And what we decide we can put up with.





	1. Invisible String

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, my beauties! As mentioned, THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR CRIMES OF GRINDELWALD. Don't get mad at me if you don't read the warnings. This features a complicated relationship of our three primary players; Credence, Graves, and Grindelwald. The nature of those relationships is ever-changing, and can anyone really be trusted? There will be a lot of emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and psychological abuse. I mean well, I love my Credence bean, but this is going to be a rough go. It may or may not have a good ending, there may or may not be sex later on (much, MUCH later), I'll keep you apprised. Knowing me, yeah, there will be sex, because I like my romance. But there's a lot of work to do to get there. Rated explicit to buy myself space for uncomfortable violence, and if we do wander into sexual territory, you get the whole sloppy scene. Because that's how much I love you. <3
> 
> All questionable content will be properly flagged with warnings. As always, comments are appreciated.

This high up the mountain, the black sky was an uninterrupted blanket of stars over Nurmengard’s walls. Credence stood on the balcony, looking out the recently repaired window across the snowy landscape. Moonlight cast silvery light across the cracks and crevices in the cliffs, making the shadows feel that much darker. Around him, the silence in the castle was a heavy blanket that wrapped him in solitude and peace. His mind was wrung dry, exhaustion settling on his bones. 

It had been nearly a year since Credence had arrived in this stone haven, far away from those who meant him harm. Every day was essentially the same; learning about his family, about the wizarding world, about math and literature and the basics Credence should have been taught from a young age, but had long been denied. No matter how much he stumbled, or how long it took him to pick up a new skill, Grindelwald and Queenie were unfailingly patient. On the one hand, he was overjoyed to find someone truly engaging him, interested in him, and giving him all the things he’d craved since he was a child. He was attention and affection starved, that ache worse than any growl from his gut on the nights he went to bed unfed.

On the other, there was an unsettling feeling of thick oil slick on his skin, and no matter how hard Credence tried to ignore it, it wouldn’t go away. There was just something that crawled under his skin

Perched on the railing a few feet away, the chest of his fledgling companion, a nameless phoenix with sprouting wings of burnt orange and gold, rose and fell with the slow, steady breaths of the sleeping. The creature refused all other people, staying close to him and snapping at those who made Credence uncomfortable. Now it slept, though he knew if anything spooked him, those deep black eyes would snap open in watchful awareness. A tender smile touched the corner of Credence’s lips as he looked back out across the expanse of night. Both hands wrapped around the polished wood railing, his body leaned against it for more support than he wanted to admit he needed.

From the depths of the silence, Credence felt a gentle tug.

The sensation was similar to being watched by invisible eyes. Well trained like any beast of prey, Credence stilled his breathing further, barely moving as he waited for some kind of noise to give him a hint as to where his audience was. Several painful, quick heartbeats passed, then he felt it again, like there was a string tied to the bottom of his ribcage, and someone was pulling on it. It didn’t hurt, but it was clearly there.

Credence turned slowly, fully expecting to find someone standing behind him. The large library was just as empty as before. He was still new to this magical world, but he could now recognize that charged touch, that buzz under his skin when magic was in play. He couldn’t name this particular feeling, but it didn’t necessarily unsettle him either. Perhaps it was another puzzle created by Grindelwald to hone his skills. One hand checked that his wand still hung from his belt, a comforting weight of dark wood before he glanced at the still-slumbering bird. “Well, if you’re not bothered, why should I be?” he asked the silence before heading for the door.

The halls of the old castle were dark and quiet. Even though Credence couldn’t see or hear anyone, he was under no impression that he was alone; always there were house elves around, and he was quite sure they were tasked with watching him specifically. That was fine, it wasn’t a new idea for him anyway. But now there was something unsettling about the idea of being followed. Grindelwald hadn’t said anything about not wandering around the castle, but for some reason, this felt…different.

It was a stumbling process, starting and stopping as if whoever held the other end of the invisible string kept dropping it. Several times, Credence was left stranded in a dark hallway with little idea of where he was. Minutes would pass, then the tug would come again. As he descended further into the bowels of the castle, Credence pulled his wand out and whispered on of his first spells, “Lumos.” Soft light flared at the end of his wand, and he couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride in the center of his chest. 

Time passed unchecked, and eventually Credence found himself at the base of a narrow staircase, which lead into a long, pitch black hall. Just ahead, at the very edge of the sphere of light he cast, he could see a heavy oak door with straps of iron bands across it. There was a tiny opening at just about head height, cracked open. Something told him that whoever was pulling for his attention was just behind that door. Unsure, Credence tried to reach out down the faint connection, to see if maybe he could return the contact. 

It was far more successful than expected. He found, waiting almost expectantly at the other end, a sense of an older man, weak but determined. The holder of the magic string clearly not expecting any sort of deliberate response. The connection wavered and nearly severed, but held fast. This time, the tug was more insistent, almost desperate. Credence swallowed hard and adjusted the grip on the wide base of his wand. His voice was thick in his throat, a whisper of a squeak as he finally managed to ask, “Hello?”

“Ah, there you are, my boy,” purred a familiar voice as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Credence bit back at frightened yelp as his wand clattered to the floor, dousing the light. The grip on his shoulder was tight as he was slowly turned around, eyes wide in the dark. “What are you doing down here so late, and all alone?” No answer came to mind, and Credence stammered uselessly as he fought for words. A soft, hissing shush filled the space between them, his throat suddenly clenched shut with a strange mix of fear and…anticipation?

Light bloomed at the end of his wand again, and Credence blinked suddenly. It was fainter than his previous spell like candlelight, and he’d heard nothing spoken. Lifted somehow from the floor to head height now, the light shone off the white-blond hair of Grindelwald. Surprisingly full lips curled up in that perpetual half-smile he always had around Credence. “You got awfully lost on your way back to your room.” It wasn’t a question, but Credence had a feeling an answer was expected. The hand on his shoulder slid just slightly towards his neck, the tip of Grindelwald’s thumb brushing against the bare skin of his throat. 

Swallowing around his thick tongue, Credence dropped his gaze to the fine white silk shirt he wore, the collar laying open in a surprisingly disheveled look. “Y-yes,” he lied, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. The thin thread of connection between himself and whoever was behind that wall was still there, but had gone preternaturally still. It was as if whoever was there didn’t want to draw any sort of attention for fear of being detected by Grindelwald. “I’m sorry.”

Grindelwald shushed Credence again as his hand slid around to gently grip the back of his neck. A shiver ran down Credence’s spine as he allowed himself to be pulled forward, back towards the stairs. “Nothing to be sorry for, Aurelius. I encourage you to explore. This is as much your home as it is mine.” Strong fingers tightened on the back of his neck, and he gently pushed Credence up the stairs as he pressed his wand back into a trembling hand. “Go on, then, I’m right behind you.” Grindelwald stayed at the base of the stairs, waiting until his young protégé disappeared up around the corner.

The instant he was alone, Grindelwald’s expression fell, a hardness in his eyes that he kept well-hidden from Credence. With a flick of his wrist, the single sconce next to the heavy door flared to life with a sickly yellow flame. The thick soles of his boots thudded on the stone floor as he walked slowly down the hall, both hands clasped behind his back. He stopped just shy of the door, waiting in the oppresive silence. “I know what you’re doing,” he whispered, voice barely carrying into the impenetrable dark. “It’s cute. Truly. But know this; if I didn’t have a need for you, I’d skin you alive inch by inch, from the soles of your feet to your neck, just to feel your blood run through my fingers. You live because I wish it. Do not test me, pet. The boy is _mine_.” 

From behind the door, Grindelwald could hear a low, dangerous growl. There was the shifting sound of fabric, then the soft clink of metal against stone. Then it all fell still, and the resignation and hatred was palpable. When there was no further response, the wizard snorted wryly. “That’s what I thought. Sleep well, pet. Don’t cause me any further trouble, hm? You’re more useful with all of your digits.” Both hands still folded behind his back, he pivoted smoothly on his heel and headed back up the stairs, snuffing the light with the twitch of a finger and plunging the hallway back into utter darkness.


	2. Nightmares and Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares haunt Credence, and he learns a little history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gaslighting and subtle abuse starts to get real here, as does the possessive controlling behaviors.

Credence stood in the middle of an endless flight of stairs, both directions stretching into darkness. High stone walls boxed him in, thin window slits above reach letting watery moonlight in. He couldn’t see a source of light, but had no trouble seeing each stair, each large stone beside him. Stepping closer to the wall to examine it, he saw the surfaces were covered with line after line after line of scrawled text, nearly impossible to make out. In some cases he wasn’t even sure what he was looking at was English. Some looked very deliberate, carved with great care; others were clearly done in haste. There wasn’t an inch uncovered, and anything that didn’t have words had long, raking claw marks. The most unsettling piece of it was how familiar it all felt; like he could almost remember writing it himself, and yet...not himself.

Shaking off the lingering memories, Credence stepped back into the middle of the staircase and looked up the stairs. Despite the fact that he could see nothing, he felt simultaneously drawn up, and repulsed by what he sensed waited for him. Knowledge, but at what cost? Acceptance, but of what? Gnawing on his lip, he looked down the stairs instead. Met with more darkness, but now he felt that same tug as before. More insistent this time, like someone had wrapped a hand around his ribs and was pulling him down into the unknown. He hesitated, looking back up the stairs when that grip yanked hard enough to pull him off his feet. “Credence, please,” it whispered. A voice he could have sworn he knew, but wrecked with overuse, like they’d spent too much time screaming. “I need your help.”

“Don’t let him fool you, Aurelius,” came that same soft, deep caress, overlapping with the voice from below. He turned to look up the stairs again, seeing a soft light at what might have been the top. A figure was silhouetted there, tall with broad shoulders and a sweeping coat that floated around his shin as he descended the stairs. “I am the one who has returned your name to you. He still calls you by that wretched woman’s name.”

“Credence,” begged the first voice, tugging again on his chest. “Don’t listen to his lies. He’s just using you.” There was something so genuine in that voice, so raw that Credence instinctively stepped towards it.

“Lies?” The voice from above him crooned sweetly, a disapproving click of the tongue following that sugar-dipped word. “I have never lied to you, my boy. I have only ever wanted the best for you.” One hand extended down towards him, now only a few steps between them. “Come, Aurelius.”

Now the grip on his ribs was starting to hurt, digging in like claws. “No, Credence!” protested the ragged voice. Credence could feel the strain, the rage behind it. Fear shot up his spine, and the young man flung himself up the stairs into the open arms of Grindelwald. 

Instead of connecting with a solid body, Credence pitched forward into the swirling, strangling heat of his raw Obscurus form. Blackness consumed him, burning as it forced its way into his nose and mouth. His screams were muffled, tearing at his throat as he struggled to break free. The more he thrashed, he tighter it gripped him. Over the sounds of his own terror, he heard a low, malicious chuckle, and what might have been an accompanying roar of rage.

Credence shot upright in his bed, or at least he tried to. The tangle of blankets around his legs and arms held him fast, soaked with cold sweat as he rolled off the edge of the bed and landed on the floor with a hard thump. He stilled and forced himself to breathe, the stone against his flushed cheek a shock that helped focus him. Several minutes passed before he tried to push himself up on wobbly arms. The blankets fell away into a puddle around him, and Credence curled into a ball, pressing his forehead against his knees. Trembling hard, he fought back sobs with practiced ease, until the tightness in his chest faded.

Finally lifting his head, Credence looked around his room with sleep-blurred eyes. Early morning light filtered down through sheer curtains that hung over the massive floor to ceiling windows overlooking the snow-covered mountains. This high up, wildlife was uncommon, though he had heard rumors of large snowcats that prowled the caverns. He rose slowly to his feet and wrapped a heavy blanket around himself to ward off the chill in the room. Padding across the room to the window, his bare feet were cushioned by thick rugs layered over stone. Thin wisps of cloud streaked across the pale blue sky, another clear but frigid day promised. The tip of one slim finger slid along the sill, tracing the whorls of ice crystals that formed against the glass.

“Good morning, my boy.” Credence spun around to see Grindelwald leaned casually against the door frame. “Apologies for my intrusion. I knocked, but you didn’t respond, so I wanted to ensure you were alright.” Heavy black brows drew down; he didn’t remember hearing the sound of a knock. He must have been distracted. He shrugged deeper into the soft blanket, finding comfort in its warmth. “Did you sleep well?”

Credence nodded immediately and turned back to the window, giving himself a moment to settle his racing heart. He was sure Grindelwald could hear it, could sense the lie on him, but for whatever reason, the man didn’t push it. A memory of Ma sprang unbidden to his mind; if she thought for even a second that you were lying, she’d use every means necessary to drag what she thought was the truth out of you. His back was littered with scars for lies he’d told, and those he hadn’t. Shivering, he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

“Something wrong, Aurelius?” Suddenly Grindelwald was beside him with that soft voice in his ear and a tender hand against the edge of his shoulder. Always touching. “You look pale.”

“Just a nightmare,” Credence whispered, barely shrugging out of reach. Grindelwald let his hand drop into the pocket of his slacks, taking in the sight of the young man bundled up before him. “I’ll be alright.”

“Of course you will. You’re strong like that.” A small smile curled up the corner of his lips, and he stepped back. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Just before he reached the door, Credence turned. “Sir?” Grindelwald paused and turned, both brows raised in question. He felt a flutter of fear in his stomach, but pushed past it. “Last...last night...where was I?”

This time, Grindelwald’s smile was fuller, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You found an old storage closet I’d long forgotten about. This place is so vast, there are a great many nooks and crannies that have fallen into disrepair. Don’t worry about it.”

Credence’s lips pursed, and he looked down thoughtfully. That didn’t explain that tug he’d sworn he’d felt, as if something beckoned him. “But sir--”

“Castles such as this are full of such strange mystery, aren’t they?” Grindelwald said smoothly. “Don’t worry about it.” This time, there was a firmness to his voice. Not unkind, but that was all that was going to be said on the matter. Credence’s shoulders hunched slightly as he withdrew into himself and nodded. “Good boy. Now. I’ll see you at breakfast?” Credence nodded again, and Grindelwald took his leave.

Alone again, he turned back to the window and pulled the blanket tighter. This name business was...unsettling to Credence. Aurelius. Whatever it was supposed to be. Grindelwald insisted on calling him Aurelius, and making sure everyone around him called him that. It was nice to hear a name that was only his, the one that his true family had given him. He worked at thinking of himself with that name, rather than as Credence. Sometimes it felt like a large coat; comfortable, but not quite the right fit just yet. But it came with its own strange baggage; did he really want to be a part of a family that sent him away like that? And why had they done that?

Grindelwald still hadn’t given him a good answer for that. All Aurelius really knew was that he came from the Dumbledore family tree, and that he’d been sent away on the doomed ship “to protect the family.” So it wasn’t even about _him_ , it was about the _family_. That stung deep, and the more he learned, the less he liked his own history. To call it regret wasn’t quite right, but that feeling of not belonging still weighed heavily on him. Grindelwald insisted that this was where he belonged, among those who saw him for what he was, and valued his contributions. And for the most part, he felt alright here.

Sighing heavily, Aurelius turned away from window. He dropped the blanket in a pile by the large armoir and pulled open the heavy door. Inside was the largest collection of beautiful clothes he had ever seen. Silks, linens, wools, all impeccably tailored to fit him flawlessly. Once dressed, he looked himself over in the mirror. His figure had filled out significantly, though he was still very angular, and his dark brown eyes were much brighter. A mop of wavy black hair curled around the tips of his ears, a much better look than the horrendous look from before. Surprisingly satisfied with who looked back at him, he ran slim fingers through the tangles of his hair and followed after Grindelwald.

Downstairs, Aurelius found Grindelwald sitting at one end of a massive table. An impressive breakfast spread of pastries, meats, and fruits waited for him. The sight made his stomach rumble, the sound of which caught his hosts attention. “Ah, there you are, my boy. Come, join me.” He took a seat beside Grindelwald, who was already piling his plate high. “Eat. When you’re done, I have a surprise for you.”

Beside his plate sat a small stack of papers. The expectation was that while Aurelius ate, he was to read the pages to himself, then aloud to show his progress. It was getting easier, so the words and content were becoming more complex. As he picked up a pastry up off the plate, he started to work through the story. This morning's tale was of three brothers who encountered Death in the middle of a magically conjured bridge. Each was gifted an item of great power, though two of the three suffered gruesome deaths. Only the third lived a full life. 

Working through the story of the three brothers took much longer than usual, and left Aurelius feeling very uncomfortable. He read it out loud, noting how focused Grindelwald was on him the entire time. His two-tone eyes stayed on his face, lips parted in half a smile. When he finished reading the story aloud, he set the pages down with a deep line between his brows. “Sir, I don’t understand.”

“It’s a story about power, Aurelius,” Grindelwald said as he leaned forward, eyes bright with a kind of fervor he’d never seen before. “The three brothers all those things to try and outrun Death, but only the one who thought to use subtlety was successful.”

“So…that means…in order to defeat someone stronger than you, you need to try something other than brute Force, or…or obvious strategy?” Uncertainty colored his words, and he looked over at Grindelwald with trepidation. His stomach fluttered nervously as he watched for any sort of response.

Grindelwald’s eyes shone with genuine pride as his lips split in a wide grin. One hand reached out and tightly gripped the back of Aurelius' neck. “Yes! Yes, very good, Aurelius!” This was by far the most animated Aurelius had ever seen Grindelwald, and he felt warmth bubble up in his belly. “I’m so proud of you, my boy.”

“But it’s just a story,” Aurelius said as he sat back, taking a pastry with him. “Right? Like those parables Ma always used to tell us. Not real, just…a story to keep children in line.”

“Ah, but all stories are based in some level of truth.” Grindelwald reached into his long black coat and removed an odd shaped wand that was familiar to Aurelius. Long and slender, with pock-marked nubs along the length of it. The handle fit him perfectly, as if it was carved just for him. “You’ve seen me use this, yes?” All he could manage was a baffled nod. “This is the Elder Wand, from your story. The most powerful wand in existence, only wielded by a wizard who has bent it to his will.” Wide, dark eyes stared at the wand, resting lightly in Grindelwald’s hand. “And if this one is real, it would stand to reason that the other two do as well. Wouldn’t it?”

One trembling hand reached towards the wand. Grindelwald held fast, letting Aurelius close the distance. His fingers didn’t quite reach before retreating. “And if they do?”

“Well. That would make whoever controls them more powerful than Death, wouldn’t it, Aurelius?” He laid the wand between them, Stark against the white tablecloth. “Can you imagine what that kind of power would feel like as it courses through your veins? You know what raw power feels like as you put that leash on it and bend the knee. This could be…so much more.” Grindelwald’s already silken voice had dropped to a sensual whisper that slithered down Aurelius’ spine, chased by shivers he couldn’t decide if he liked or not. 

Breathless, Aurelius let his hand gently touch the tip of the wand. “That would be incredible.”

“I’m so glad you think so, my boy. Here, I have something for you.” He slid a small black box across the white tablecloth.

Aurelius pulled the box toward him and lifted the lid with a tip of his finger. He gasped in shock as his hand twitched hard and sent the top skittering across the table. Nestled in a bed of plush Black Velvet was a beautifully crafted silver triangle with a circle inside of it, bisected by a vertical line. A delicate silver chain draped around it, glittering in the soft gas lights. “Wh-what is-“

“Hush now, my boy,” Grindelwald whispered. “I know you have some history with this symbol, but remember, I gave it to you because I trusted you. Because I _needed_ you.” His hand gripped hard to the back of Aurelius’ neck. “I need you now, Aurelius. Stand with us, stand with _me_.” Hooking a finger into the chain, he lifted it up to spin in the light. “Let me give this to you again, in full honestly and clarity of purpose. You are still essential. You will still go down in wizarding history. Do it at my side.”

Aurelius stared hard at the necklace that hung in front of him. There was a lot of baggage there for him, but he wanted so desperately to belong. With a hard swallow, he nodded unsteadily. “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.”

The grip on his neck tightened almost painfully, then the weight of the chain dropped around his neck. “That’s my boy,” he whispered, breath warm against his cheek. “Good. Now. Let’s to your studies, hm?” Grindelwald rose suddenly, leaving Aurelius almost cold in his absence.

Rising on weak knees, Aurelius followed after him. As he crossed the hallway, he was caught by a punch to the guy that stopped him in his tracks. Fear, rage, and desperation slammed into him and stole his breath. Arms wrapped around his waist, he pivoted towards to source of the assault; it was in the same direction he’d gone the night before. Stronger now, and pleading for his attention.

“Aurelius?” Grindelwald’s voice carried from around a corner.

“Yes,” he called back on instinct. “Coming.” Forcing the effort, he straightened and continued down the hall, still watching the top of those stairs until he was out of sight.


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurelius' powers continue to grow, but Grindelwald now pushes his first test. And Queenie presents an opportunity he isn't sure he should accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the manipulation continues. And a sneak peek at where we might be heading...
> 
> For those of you wondering, worry not. We'll be finding out who's in that little storage closet soon enough. Comments, as always, are appreciated.

Days passed in relative peace, following the same routine Aurelius had become well accustomed to. His power was growing rapidly, much to Grindelwald’s subtle pleasure. Though he did still struggle with controlling the roiling anger that stayed hot in his belly. It had a tendency to flare to life and cause destruction when his emotions became particularly heated. This was especially true when they spoke of the history of the wizarding world’s need to hide who they were, to stay invisible to the muggles. 

“But why?” Aurelius asked with growing frustration. “Hiding who we are, it’s...that’s what made me like this!” He shoved away from the large wood table they sat at, the entire surface covered with stacks of books, and parchment scrawled with his own unsteady writing. Grindelwald lounged in a large chair across from him, ankles crossed and both hands folded on his stomach. His thumb toyed idly with an intricate silver button as he watched this little flare up placidly. “This, this...this _compulsion_ to hide from the world, it strangles us, it destroys us!” The pages of the books fluttered as a gust of hot wind swept across the table. 

Across the room in her own chair, Queenie glanced up from the book she was reading with gentle concern on her kind face. Waves of golden hair were pinned back to fall in soft waves that had grown past her shoulders. “Aurelius, sweetie, it’s ok,” she said soothingly. 

Grindelwald lifted his hand to silence her, the corner of his lips tilting up in a tiny smirk that vanished before either one noticed it. “No it’s not, Miss Goldstein. It is never healthy to hide our true nature. It can manifest into a powerful darkness.” That gust circled the table again, wisps of black smoke chasing after the swirling chaos and pushing books down onto the floor. The hand that stayed Queenie dropped down to catch one of the falling books and replace it smoothly on the table. “Let the boy be angry. He has spent so long being told what he could or could not feel, it is not our place to staunch that wound.” 

Aurelius stood by a large window a few feet from the table, his back to the two of them. Both shoulders were hunched up to his ears, hands curled into fists at his side. The black smoke that raced around the table flew across the room to him and began to coalesce into thick clouds at his ankles. It swelled around him, obscuring his frame like heavy fog as flickers of angry red lightening danced in the gaps. A maelstrom filled the library and knocked artwork from the walls. Behind him, Grindelwald heard Queenie yelp as she was chased from the chair, landing with a thump on the floor. The power rose higher, rattling the windows in their frame. 

Finally, Grindelwald rose from his chair, outwardly unconcerned as he walked up to stand beside Aurelius. He was just outside the current range of the deadly magic when he stopped and turned to meet the pure white eyes that stared out at him the center of the storm. One slow heartbeat, two, then he nodded slightly. “That’s enough, my boy,” he whispered, his words felt more than heard over the noise. As he watched, the black drew back inward, as if through great effort. It tightened down to a fist of pure black, then absorbed into the center of Aurelius’ chest. He staggered forward half a step and planted a trembling hand against the cold glass to steady himself. “Very good. _Very_ good, my boy.” One hand rose to grip the back of Aurelius’ neck, soothing him. “I’m so proud of you.” The silver chain under his palm dug into the soft skin of his neck, and he felt a shiver race through the body under him. “You’re learning to control that great power of yours.” With just a little pressure, he pulled their bodies closer together, his warmth radiating into the slim, shaking shoulders of the young man. 

Queenie approached his other side, brow furrowed with just the slightest concern as she wrapped a heavy blanket around him. “Come here, honey, let’s get you warm.” 

Grindelwald gave Queenie a flat stare before slowly pulling his hand away and stepping back from the window. “I need to be away for a few days. While I’m gone, Miss Goldstein will help you with your studies.” Walking casually back to the table, he flicked his hand and the books that had been toppled floated back up to their stacks. 

“W-wait, you what?” Bundled tightly in the blanket Queenie had brought him, Aurelius turned away from the window with drawn brows. “Where are you going?” 

“Away.” Both hands in the pockets of his pants, Grindelwald turned a slightly sour frown over his shoulder. Aurelius hunched his shoulders a little, dropping his eyes to the floor. “It’s nothing you need to worry yourself with, my boy. Just making sure things are lining up for you when it’s time for your big debut.” He adjusted the collar of his silk shirt as he turned back to the pair standing by the window. “She will take excellent care of you, I’m sure.” 

“Yes, of course I will,” Queenie said with a warm smile as she placed a gentle hand on Aurelius’ shoulder. He felt an equally gentle brush against the inside of his mind, a tell-tale sign that she was there with his thoughts. The hackles on the back of his neck rose slightly, and that touch faded. “We’ll be just fine.” 

Aurelius shifted his gaze up off the floor and met Grindelwald’s flat stare. “Y-yes, sir,” he said quietly as he tugged the blanket tighter to his chin. 

The chill expression on Grindelwald’s face softened, and he smiled. “Good boy. I’ll be back in a couple days.” With a small dip of his head, the blond man flicked his wrist, and disappeared with a snap of air. 

Aurelius blinked at the sudden vacant spot. “One of these days I’ll get used to that,” he muttered, flinching when Queenie touched his arm again. “S-sorry, I'm not...” 

“Not used to people touching you,” she finished sympathetically. “I know. I’m sorry. I can stop if you want.” 

There was a pause while he considered. “No, I...I do like it.” Her eyes softened, and Queenie squeezed his arm kindly. “You...Grindelwald hasn’t explained...what you do. Not really.” 

Queenie nodded slowly and let her hand slide through his elbow as she pulled the blanket away and draped it over the back of the chair. She guided him towards the other overstuffed armchairs and helped him sit. With a slow turn of her hand, two delicate china tea mugs righted themselves. There was a soft rattling sound, and the painted tea pot in the center of the small round table started to curl steam out of the spout. “I’m what’s called a Legilimens, on top of being a witch.” Her eyes stayed on the tea pot as it lifted off the table and poured two mugs. “Sugar?” Two cubes floated into Aurelius’ mug and dissolved as she dropped a silver spoon in. “Have you heard that word before?” 

“Legilimens? I think so? But I don’t really know what it means.” He picked up his mug carefully and inhaled the fragrant steam. “I can sometimes...feel you, inside my mind. I think.” 

“When I want you to, yes,” Queenie said with a nod as she picked up her own mug. Her fingers were dainty around the lip of the gold painted porcelain. “I can read minds. I can’t not, really. Most of the time it’s just background noise, like when you’re standing in a crowd. But instead of hearing it with my ears, like you do, I hear it inside my head. If I focus, I can pick out specific thoughts. The more distressed someone is, the easier it is to read them. Kind of like they’re shouting.” 

Aurelius processed this for a moment. He vaguely remembered that soft touch settling him during particularly brutal nightmares over the past few months, especially when he first arrived. It had felt like fingers through his hair and across his brow, easing the wrinkles. “Was that you...” 

“Soothing your nightmares? Yes, sweetie, that was me. If they’re real bad, I can feel them, too.” Her full lips turned down in a concerned frown. “I hope you don’t mind...?” 

“I...they get bad sometimes. And I can’t seem to make them stop on my own. So, thank you.” The steam floating up in front of his eyes blurred his vision a moment, and Aurelius blew it away before taking a small sip. “Is it just what someone is thinking right then, or can you find things? Like...like memories?” 

“It depends,” Queenie answered cautiously. “It’s possible for people to build up defenses, to protect themselves from people like me. But if they’re not very good, or if they let me in, I can look around. I can watch their memories, things that happened to them when they were young, sometimes even their dreams if they were strong enough. It’s pretty exhausting for both of us, though, so I don’t do it often.” One slim shoulder shrugged as she peered at him over the rim of her mug. “Plus it’s awful intrusive, don’t you think?” 

The pause was heavier as Aurelius thought for several minutes. Queenie let him sit with it while he drank his tea, kindly keeping out of his mind as he did so. “What about...what about things I can’t remember?” His voice was so small, eyes trained on the rug beneath his booted feet. 

“What do you mean?” Queenie’s breath was tight, but she tried to keep the shake out of her voice as she watched his sharp profile. The bottom of her stomach dropped out as she considered what he might be asking. 

“Sometimes I have...thoughts that aren’t mine.” The lines between his heavy brows deepened. “They’re not dreams, or at least they don’t feel like them. They feel like memories, but I don’t remember them. They don’t look like me, they don’t...they didn’t live the same life I did, but it’s still _me_.” Long fingers started to fidget on the mug, squeezing and relaxing at random intervals as he spoke. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?” 

“Maybe a little,” Queenie said. Her mug settled on the table with a quiet thump. Sliding out of her chair, she knelt on the rug at Aurelius’ feet, adjusting her pale blue skirts out of the way. Surprise lit his dark eyes at her sudden appearance, and he pulled back a little. “Our earliest memories form as soon as we’re born, Aurelius. Sometimes even before that. You have a couple very traumatic years of your life, that you don’t remember at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had some memories that felt out of place, because you don’t have any real memories there at all. Memories of your real family.” Her delicate hand rested on his knee, noting the way his gaze shifted from the carpet to her fingers. “Do you want me to take a look?” 

“No.” His refusal was swift as he rose abruptly to his feet and stepped out of reach. “N-no, I...no.” Aurelius shook his head hard to clear the influx of memories and uncomfortable thoughts, some his and some not. “It’s not important.” 

The silence sat between them for several long minutes before Queenie rose from the floor. The tea pot hovered beside her as she crossed to stand just behind Aurelius. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know who you are, honey,” she said in a hushed tone. “We all want to know where we come from. With so many different stories around you and your past, I can imagine just how confused you are.” Her eyes went a little glassy as she brushed against his thoughts. “What are you scared of, Aurelius?” 

His shoulders rolled like his shirt was too tight, one hand tugging at the bottom of his finely tailored vest. “Nothing,” came his faint, weak reply. “Nothing.” 

Aurelius’ lie felt like an oil slick against Queenie’s mind. She flinched back hard as she was slapped with his mental _stop asking, stop asking, **STOP ASKING**_. Reaching out more deliberately with the tendrils of thought, she was met with a towering wall of pure black that writhed and coiled around the inside of his mind. She’d never had a sense of it before; Aurelius’ thoughts had always been an open book to her, almost begging to be heard. But it seemed when directly probed, some sort of vicious defenses rose to protect him. “Alright, honey. No problem. I won’t ask again. My offer stands if you change your mind, though.” Her hand rose as if to gently touch his shoulder, then lowered as she thought better of it. “I’m going to go sort out dinner for us. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? You’ve been working so hard, I’m sure you could use the break.” 

Half turning over his shoulder, the midafternoon sun cast his profile in sharp relief and gilded the edges with gold. One hand reached up to grip the pendant that hung around his neck, and Aurelius nodded. “I think I’ll do that. Thank you, Miss Goldstein. I’ll...I’ll just go rest in my room until dinner.” He stepped just past her, feeling the sharp corners of the triangle digging into his palm and grounding him as he all but fled. 

Standing alone in the library, Queenie took in a slow, trembling breath. Her hands were cold and clammy at her sides. Even the sunlight she stood in did little to warm a chill that sank into her bones. Something about that presence surrounding Aurelius, likely the Obscurus that still clung to him like a parasite, gave her deep pause. She’d never come up against it before, no matter how intentionally she’d listened to the young man’s thoughts. But the moment she mentioned exploring those memories that might not be his, it had manifested so fast it gave her whiplash. 

What was buried back there? And who didn’t want her to know; Aurelius, or the Obscurus?


	4. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurelius' nightmares have worsened. He wakes from one to find that same beckoning pull. This time, he follows it all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little brutal at the jump, so just...bear that in mind. It's quick, though. Other than that...do enjoy. Comments, as always, are appreciated.

Rain fell heavily on the dirty streets of New York in the fading light of a gloomy sunset. People rushed through the downpour with their umbrellas held close against the elements. Tires splashed through deep puddles, leaving streaks of mud on the sidewalk. Credence jumped back from one particularly large spray, his shoulder crashing into the wet brick wall behind him. “Come here, Credence,” came a low voice from behind him, quiet words colored with a faint Irish lilt. He spun on his heel, one hand barely catching the low black hat that was pressed down onto his head. 

A few feet back, the familiar silhouette of Director Graves stood close to the building, a ripped circus poster fluttering in the gusty breeze. Credence approached him cautiously, a quick glance over his shoulder confirming that his sisters hadn’t followed. The alley provided little shelter from the elements as Graves wrapped an arm around his back and drew him closer. “I’ve been trying to reach you for several days,” the slightly shorter man said. His words weren’t explicitly upset, but Credence still flinched from the faint sense of disappointment he could feel twist in his gut. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered into his own chest. “It’s been hard to get away. Ma has been watching so close since...” 

“Hush, my boy,” soothed the warm voice that curled deep at the base of his spine and sat like a comforting weight. “It’s quite alright, you’ve done nothing wrong. I know she can be difficult. I’m just relieved to see you safe.” Graves turned Credence to face him square on and cupped his cold cheeks with his warm hands. “I’m so proud of you, do you know that, Credence?” 

The younger man felt himself blush under the intimate praise, trying to turn his face away. “Why, sir? I’ve done nothing worth being proud.” 

“Oh, but you have, my boy,” he purred and let both hands drop down to his too-thin shoulders. “You’ve stood strong despite all that that wretched woman has put you through. You have refused to cave to her. You are very, very special, Credence. To me, and to the entire wizarding world. We need you.” 

Credence shook his head as if to clear the confusion that muddled his thoughts. “To do what?” 

“Pay attention, Credence.” Graves dropped one hand from his face and pressed it hard against the center of his chest. The heat from his palm pulsed like a heartbeat, growing rapidly. “I need you.” Soon the heat became uncomfortable, and Credence tried to squirm out of his grip. Graves’ other hand latched onto the back of his neck to hold him in place. “Pay attention,” he repeated, curling his fingers to dig into the gaps in his thin ribs. The heat flared down his skin, burning through his shirt and into his skin. “Pay attention, my boy.” Credence’s breath came in sharp gasps as he watched Graves’ hand push through his chest. Pale skin blackened and curled like parchment, his bones splitting like firewood. Blood coursed down in thick, crimson rivulets that mingled with the falling rain and soaked into his clothes to drip into the mud beneath his boots. 

“Please, please, stop! You’re hurting me!” He struggled harder against the iron grip on his neck, feeling fingers dig in and bruise. Words faded into desperate screams as Graves held him fast, those deep brown eyes darkening to black. There was a pause as Graves’ hand caught on his sternum, then a sickening cracking sound as he shattered through. Searing hot fingers wrapped around his heart and squeezed hard. He could feel the impressions of fingers digging into the pounding muscle, no longer able to breathe. 

“I need you, Credence,” Graves snarled. He shoved hard against the young man, slamming his back hard into the brick wall. Cold met hot, the hand on his neck the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the ground. “Feel me. Hear me. _HELP ME!_ ” 

Aurelius woke with a muffled shout, Graves’ last words ringing in his ears and stumbling off his own lips into the empty room. His hand was curled into a tight fist that he was sure covered burn marks and blood streaks. He was undamaged when he finally dared to look down at his chest, though sweat had soaked into his nightshirt and slid down his skin. The pain still throbbed through his bones and tingled in the tips of his fingers. Something tugged hard on him, driving him out of bed and stumbling to the door. He at least had the presence of mind to step into his slippers and grab a heavy robe before stepping out into the dark hall, wand tightly clutched in his clammy hand. 

Chasing the source of the pain was all that kept Aurelius on his feet. With one hand still pressed against the throbbing sensation that radiated into his limbs, he careened off of more than one corner. His feet slid out from under him as he took a corner too fast and he went flying across the cold tiles, crashing into a small table and knocking it on top of himself with a clatter. He lay still on the floor, trying to catch his breath even as the pain pounding behind his ribs. Clenching his fist around the wand, Aurelius curled himself into a small ball on his side and stifled his agonized screams into his thighs, much like he had as a child. “What do you _want_ from me?!” he cried, his body wracked with sobs. 

_Haven’t you been listening? I need you to find me._

A familiar voice slid through Aurelius’ mind like a snake, exhausted and mildly annoyed. He stilled and slowly unfolded, still on the floor. There was no sign of anyone in the hallway with him, no one in sight. The pain in his chest had lessened with the response, but the insistent drag of it was still present. “Wh...who’s there?” he asked with an unsteady voice, pushing up onto his elbow. 

There was no answer this time, only another tug down the dark hallway. Aurelius glared in the direction of the summons and finally stood. Light flared from the end of his wand, and he continued at a more sedate pace. Feeling extremely conspicuous, he paused at the corners of hallways and checked for anyone out at this hour. No one made themselves known, and since he hadn’t been stopped yet, he assumed all was well. 

The pull didn’t stop until Aurelius reached the top of the same stairs from before. He checked over his shoulder again, seeing only darkness, then stepped down the stairs. His heart pounded behind his ribs as he reached the bottom. The light from his wand was brighter this time, reaching the same heavy door with the thick iron bands. All the moisture was suddenly sucked from his mouth, and he paused. Several minutes passed in silence before that squeeze from his dream crept back into his chest. Hissing in irritation and renewed pain, Aurelius lifted his wand higher and snapped, “Who’s there?” 

Instantly the pressure vanished. A silence descended on the hallway like a thick blanket, as if the world held its breath. There was a soft shuffling from behind the door, then the sound of metal against stone. Aurelius’ heart threatened to leap from his mouth, his feet rooted to the floor. “Who’s there?” he demanded again. “What do you want?” No answer followed, so he stepped closer to the door. The sound of something scraping the floor was clearer now, and as he raised the wand to shine in the cracked window at head height, he heard a disgruntled hiss. “Is there someone in there?” With the wand held next to the window, he peered inside. 

What Grindelwald had dismissed as a storage closet was, in fact, a decently sized dungeon. Flat stone walls surrounded a slightly sloped floor with what appeared to be a drain in the center. A set of old, well-used manacles hung on the far wall, and to the right was a stone table at about hip height. In the back left corner, there was a pile of old blankets, and a battered wooden bucket. The blankets shifted as Aurelius shone the light from his wand toward it, a sort of angry snarl coming from it. “Put that out, boy, I’ll go blind.” The voice that shot out was reed thin and wrecked, laced with disdain. 

Aurelius whispered softly, and the light dimmed. The blankets snorted and turned to reveal a gaunt, pale face. A thick beard grew along the wide jawline, black hair hanging lank to his shoulders. Deep set eyes that looked black from his distance stared up at the window. His form was unclear due to the layers of blankets he wore, and there was a soft sound of metal clinking every time he moved. “Are…are you the one who’s been…um…” 

“Trying to get your attention? Yes, my boy. That would be me.” The man paused to cough hard, the sound ugly as his whole body shook. “I’m a little offended you don’t remember me.” 

“Should I?” Deep furrows formed in Aurelius’ brow as the light at the tip of his wand brightened. “I don’t…” 

There was a series of disgruntled noises from the corner, and the man slowly staggered to his feet. Every movement was marked with pain and weakness; by the time he was upright, he was panting and sweating. Long nails dug into the heel of his hand to try and give him something to focus on. One small step at a time, he made his way along the wall, and then over to the door. Both hands were planted on the heavy wood to keep him upright, something heavy clanking beneath the tattered sleeves of his coat. Eventually, with a steadying breath, the man lifted his head and met Aurelius’ gaze. “How about now, my boy?” 

The familiarity of those eyes, that deep chocolate brown flecked with burnished gold, hit Aurelius like a slap. He took a step back from the door with a strangled gasp, clutching the hefty wand to his chest. Memories and the traces of nightmares flashed across his mind, of soft words and hard lies. Those eyes filled his moments of peace, and that once smooth voice had more than once chased him from sleep. “Director Graves…” 

“The one and only.” One corner of his mouth curled up in a humorless smile. “At least, I thought so.” Aurelius stepped back up to the door, the light from the trembling wand casting discomforting shadows across the planes of the skeletal face on the other side. Deep bruises colored the thin skin beneath his sunken eyes, once-full lips were chapped and cracked, and he could see the marks of deep scars disappearing down into the filthy rags he wore. 

“What are you doing down here? I thought--” Aurelius stopped short. What did he think? He knew that Grindelwald had used Graves’ face for nearly a year in New York, using the director’s power and influence to try and find the Obscurus that lived in tandem with Aurelius. It was unclear how long Grindelwald had been coming to him as Graves, or how long the two of them had actually interacted before he was replaced. The fact that Grindelwald hadn’t recognized it in him had been a point of tension for some months after he first came to Austria, but it also spoke volumes to the vast well of power he could command, if he could hide and control such a force for so long. 

“A great many people thought a great many things,” Graves said with an angry growl. His face twisted in a scowl, and he fought back another coughing fit. One hand came off the wall and dragged down his face. A thick band of iron, engraved with intricate symbols, was secured around his wrist, equally detailed chain links dangling down towards his other hand. “All of them were wrong. Of course it’s the half-breed _child_ who decided that siding with a sociopathic narcissist that finds me down here.” Graves pushed back from the door to stand on his own two feet. He swayed a little before standing firm. 

Aurelius looked as if he’d been kicked. Hurt and anger twisted in his gut, a hot breeze beginning to swirl around his feet. “What right do you have to be mad at me? You’re the one who’s been invading my dreams, and _hurting_ me. Then when I do finally come down here, the first thing you do is insult me?” 

“Yes. Because I need you to understand just what a terrible decision you’ve made. Grindelwald? Truly? You realize everything that man says is a lie, coated in manipulation dipped in sugared insinuations, right? Nothing he says, _nothing_ , can be trusted at face value.” Graves pinned Aurelius with a hard stare through the slit in the door. “So tell me, Credence, what lies did he tell you to convince you to work with him? Did he promise you power? Freedom?” He paused, dark eyes narrowing. “A family?” 

Aurelius flinched, a thick black mist swirling up around his whole body a half second later. Inside the cell, Graves’ eyes widened in surprise as he took a step back. Wind whipped around the hallway, tugging at his blankets and hair. Previously dark eyes fogged over, white swirling in their depths as he glared at Graves. Furnace-intense heat flared from him before snapping back as the smoke disappeared as quickly as it came. The sound of the wind died down, leaving a void in its wake. The glassy white faded from his eyes, and he swallowed hard. “My name is Aurelius.” He seemed to consider saying something else, then thought better of it, pivoted on his toe, and disappeared back up the stairs, leaving Graves alone in the dark once more.


	5. Barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queenie and Aurelius talk nightmares, and legilimency, and Director Graves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, readers! Life got in the way, and I had to prep a D&D session last week. But the next couple chapters should come quicker again.
> 
> Hang on to your butts, because this is gonna get worse before it gets better. Comments, as always, are appreciated. <3

Aurelius did not fall back asleep after returning to his room. Instead, he alternated between pacing the floor, and staring out the window into the deep night. He was still there when the sun started to rise, thin pink and gold rays gilding the undisturbed snow. It glittered like countless diamonds, slowly turning from cold blue, to pale purple and pink, to a blinding white that eventually forced him to turn away.

That insistent tug from the night before was gone, but his very bones ached with the memory of it.

Director Graves, the man whose face had misled and manipulated him for months, was still alive. And just a few floors down from where he stood. Aurelius looked down at the stones under his feet as if he could stare through it and see his bedraggled body, curled up in the corner and wrapped in rotting rags. That stark visual was so at odds with the figure from his memory; imposing, with broad shoulders and an impeccable cut to his clothing. There had been little trace of that man in who he’d encountered downstairs. The fire and power he remembered was definitely still there, but somehow...tamped. Quieted. 

Not to mention he was an absolute asshole.

A knock at his door startled Aurelius out of his contemplations. He turned from the window and wrapped his robe tighter around himself. “Yes?”

The door creaked open, and the perfectly coifed head of Queenie poked through. “Good morning, sweetie. Did I wake you?” She smiled at Aurelius’ shake of his head and stepped into the room. “You’re up awful early. Are you ok, honey?” His pause was long enough that it wouldn’t have mattered what he said. “Why don’t we take breakfast up here, and we can talk, ok?” Queenie leaned back out of the door and waved one hand quickly before coming back in and shutting the door behind her. “Come on then, have a sit. We’re on no schedule but our own today.” She gestured to the two comfortably plush armchairs by the fire. “It’s chilly in here, isn’t it? Let me fix that.” Her delicate wand appeared in her hand, and with a small twirl of her wrist the fire crackled to life, instantly casting warmth into the room.

Aurelius managed a weak smile and crossed the room to join her. The lure of the fire was irresistible, and he sat as close to it as he could. With the robe tucked up tight under his chin, Queenie noted just how small he looked in that large chair. “Do you want to talk about it?” He could feel her brush against the outside of his thoughts again, but she didn’t intrude.

He still recoiled from the mental touch, and felt her slide away again. “Just nightmares again,” he said with a vague roll of his shoulder. “They’ve been...they’ve been getting worse.” At least that part was honest.

Queenie’s frown deepened with genuine concern. “You know your nightmares can’t hurt you, right? They’re just your mind processing, that’s all. Nothing that can hurt you.”

One hand shifted under the thick robe to rub the center of Aurelius’ chest. “Yeah, maybe.” He was quiet for a minute as he watched the flames lick around the logs in the fireplace. “Queenie...that thing you talked about yesterday. Legil...legal...legili...”

“Legilimency,” she finished with a small nod and smile. “Yes, what about it?”

“Is that...would learning that help me with my—with my nightmares?” Long fingers toyed with a loose string at the edge of his robe to give himself an excuse to avoid Queenie’s intensely worried look. “They’ve been getting worse.”

Queenie desperately wanted to get up and wrap the young man in a warm, motherly hug. He had undeniably grown stronger in his time here with them at Nurmengard. His confidence had blossomed as he was encouraged and taught how to wield his incredible power. But still there was a part of him that remained a young man desperate for love and acceptance. He took every drop of what Grindelwald gave him and savored it, thirsting for more, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he _needed_. Queenie wasn’t sure if he recognized that just yet.

“It might,” she said thoughtfully. “Understanding the principles of legilimency can help you fortify your thoughts, and build a sort of wall around yourself. It can help you prevent other wizards from getting in and reading your thoughts, or manipulating them.”

“Wait, they can do that?” Fear flashed across his face, and Aurelius looked briefly at the door.

“Not quite,” Queenie hastened to explain. “I mean…yes, sort of. Wizards who are extremely skilled can…plant suggestions. They can guide your thoughts and ideas, but they can’t _make_ you do something you don’t, on some level, want to do. So if I teach you how to build up your defenses, then you can keep those sorts of people out.” Aurelius’ shoulders finally relaxed, and he nodded. “Now, this won’t stop all of your nightmares. You have…a lot of repressed memories in there, and a lot of…difficult experiences. Some of those will still come up on their own.”

“I understand.” Aurelius straightened a little, pulling from that inner confidence he had been working on building up. Anything that might help to keep Director Graves from forcing his way into his dreams, he was willing to try. “Can we work on that today?”

Queenie's smile was warm and wide. “Yes, of course, honey. Let’s have breakfast first, then we can get started.” Just then, there was a knock at the door. A silver tea cart loaded down with a big breakfast of pastries, French toast with chocolate, sausage and gravy, and a wild array of fruits was steered in by a small house elf dressed in simple linens. She kept her eyes down as she wheeled the cart between their chairs and disappeared quickly. Aurelius’ eyes were wide as he stared at the spread. “I figured we could splurge a little,” Queenie said with a sly grin. Her own plate was heaped high with food, and she was encouraged to see Aurelius do the same. “Its always good to learn new things on a full stomach.”

Breakfast was rapidly and thoroughly demolished, washed down with sweet tea. Once finished and cleared away, Queenie settled back with her tea and a small plate of pastries she’d held aside. “The best way to explain it is that your thoughts are like treasure. Precious things you want to keep safe and locked away, right? How do people protect their money?” Aurelius was silent; he’d never had any money of his own. Ma kept donations they had collected in a small wooden box with a heavy padlock. “With banks, and locks,” she supplied when there was no answer coming. “With walls. So what you need to do is learn how to build walls.”

Now that sounded familiar. “I think...I think I used to do that, when I was younger.” Queenie’s small nod encouraged him, and he continued. “When I could feel myself getting angry, or upset, or anything I knew Ma didn’t like, I’d…I’d picture a small stone room, like the room I shared with Charity. I’d picture it with no windows, and no doors, and I’d put all that darkness inside, and seal it up. Sometimes it would hold, and sometimes…” It wouldn’t.

The times it wouldn’t we’re still seared in his memory. Destruction and rage…and death. What was strange about those memories was that he fully remembered them, but the felt…separate from him. Like he had experienced them, but they weren’t his.

“Yes, that sounds exactly right, honey. You’ve got the basic idea. But instead of keeping things in, now you want to keep things out. Your strength has to come from a different place.” Her cup now empty, she set it down on the table between them. “Think of it like this; your mind is a castle, like this one. It has big, thick walls. The thicker the wall, the safer we are. Can you picture that?” Aurelius nodded slowly. “Good. Now, picture those walls keeping me out. I’m going to just nudge up against you, and you stop me from seeing anything, ok?” He nodded again. Moving slowly, Queenie reached out with her thoughts, seeking his specific aura. Unlike before, when he was completely unguarded, she could now sense an unsteady grey wall, like heavy fog obscuring her sight. “That’s very good,” she said with an encouraging smile. “Can you make it thicker? Denser?” Aurelius’ brow furrowed, and she could sense an increase in power as more shifted into the wall. “Very good! Now, I’m going to try and get past this barrier, and I want you to try to keep me out. I promise I won’t hurt you, and I won’t see anything private, alright?” She waited for his hesitant nod before moving forward.

Despite it’s appearance, the wall Aurelius had created was surprisingly thick. Queenie let her mental tendrils float along the edge of it, feeling for a weakness. She could feel as more power poured in, following her movements. Finally, she found a small crack, and pushed into it. There was a little resistance as he fought back, oddly sharp like dragon spines. It would have been easy to shred through his defenses, but she didn’t want to discourage him. “Give me a bit more, push back a bit more,” she said, watching the sweat bead on his forehead. “That’s it, there you go.” The pain from the spikes that seemed to be growing out of the shifting wall intensified, and she winced. “Good work,” she said tightly.

There was more in him, and she knew it. Queenie pushed forward a bit, and felt the spikes burying into her psyche as they snapped from the force. She could feel panic rise in him, and as it spiraled, she was drawn in like a whirlpool. Try though she might, she couldn’t pull herself free of the force of it, and found herself slammed in the middle of a familiar scene. Not the memory itself, but the rain-soaked streets of New York. People moved around, past, and through her, in the way of viewing another’s memories. Outside of it, she could feel someone trying desperately to pull her out, to hide whatever this was from her, but they couldn’t quite reach her. 

Queenie looked around the chaos of pedestrians to anchor herself and find what she was supposed to see. The crowds parted, and she caught sight of Aurelius and Director Graves in an alley. At this range, she couldn’t make out what was being said, but she could see the older man wrap an arm around Aurelius’ shoulder and pull him closer with a hand to the back of his neck. She started to move towards them, and caught a hint of Graves talking before she was suddenly, violently ejected from the space.

The force of her expulsion from Aurelius’ mind was strong enough to leave Queenie’s head spinning as she came back to herself in her own body. She had slumped slightly in her chair, and was staring in wide-eyed confusion at the younger man across from her. He was white as a sheet, his eyes glazed over and distant. Wisps of black smoke started to swirl around his fingers, but they vanished as his eyes cleared. “Wh-what happened?” he asked with an unsteady voice.

“I don’t...I don’t actually know.” Queenie’s own voice was thready, and she reached for her tea cup. The tea pot floated up to refill it, the liquid steaming and wafting up to heat her face. “I have never really been...thrown out like that before.”

“Are you ok?” Aurelius was still shaking, and had bundled up tighter in his robe. Queenie filled a second cup and floated it over to him. He took it gratefully and wrapped his fingers around the hot porcelain, ignorant to the scalding heat as he tried to soak as much of it into his frigid bones as possible. 

“Yes, Aurelius, I’m fine. I promise. Are you ok?” His silence was answer enough as Queenie watched him turn his head away and stare into the fire. “What did I see? Was that...was that a memory?”

“Sort of. It was half memory, half nightmare.” Aurelius’ voice was distant as he answered flatly. “I’ve been dreaming about Mr. Graves again. I don’t...I don’t know why. But he keeps coming up, and when I ask Grindelwald about him, I don’t get much of an answer. He doesn’t tell me how long it was actually Mr. Graves, and how long it was him, or why he used Mr. Graves face. I understand a little, it’s because of who Mr. Graves is...well, was...at MACUSA. But why _that_ face?” Why did Grindelwald have to pick the face of the first man Aurelius had ever tried to trust, had ever felt any sort of wicked affection towards? That silent hurt ran deep, and seeing Me. Graves again had forced it back to the surface. “Do you know anything?”

Queenie shook her head sadly, focusing on settling her nerves. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t. I didn’t work on his floor. I knew who he was, we all did. But I’d met him barely a handful of times. The most I heard about him was after…after everything fell apart, and all everyone could talk about was 'where's the real Director?' They never did get an answer to that, so we all just assume he died. They had a real nice funeral for him, very formal. He would have liked that, I think. He was always a very formal man.” Realizing she was rambling, Queenie stopped herself with a sip of her tea. “I’m sorry, I don’t know any more than you.”

Aurelius sighed, a puff of fragrant steam swirling around his head. “That’s ok, it was a long shot.” They sat in silence as both finished their tea, him turning his dream and late night conversation over and over for clues, her studying his steadily darkening features. She could sense that he was keeping something from her; her last experience skimming his thoughts gave her pause at the idea of doing it again.

Instead, she set her empty cup back on the small saucer and rose. “Well. I’ll leave you to get dressed. Meet me in the library in…an hour, to start your lessons for today.” Queenie touched his shoulder and smiled down at him. “You did really well, Aurelius. I’m very proud of you.” His smile was weak but genuine as she walked away, leaving him alone in a room silent save for the crackling fire.


	6. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we see things from the other side of that heavy door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING*** brief graphic violence, references to torture, abuse.
> 
> I warned you. I did, I did! It's going to hurt a fair bit more before it gets better. Or before you get your answers. Thanks for coming along. Comments, as always, are appreciated.

The stone floor under Percival’s cheek was cold and damp. He pulled the tattered coat closer to him, once again cursing the damage the beautiful wool and silk had taken. But it kept him warmer than nothing. He shoved at the pile of hay under his hip, trying to make the floor as comfortable as possible. Failing that, he sat up with an angry huff and tossed the chains with a loud clank. His head thumped back against the stone wall, and he let out a heavy sigh.

Percival had no idea how long it had been since Credence left in a smoke-wreathed huff. Time meant nothing down here. There were no windows, and certainly no clock to help him track how long he’d been here. Sometimes the space was completely dark, other times a faint light emanated from an unknown source. So far as he could tell, there was no pattern to it. Several stones beneath the manacles were filled with hatch marks, some of them bloodstained. He gave up after a few weeks as the passing of the hours became harder and harder. Food came at random, sometimes in rapid succession, sometimes so far apart he feared he’d been forgotten or left to starve. His throat was torn raw and bleeding with his ongoing, unanswered shouting. The monotony of solitude was broken up by visits from Grindelwald. 

He would have rather simply lost track of time.

The blood that caked the table on the wall opposite his sleeping corner was his, left behind as a reminder of what, exactly, Grindelwald was capable of, and only too willing to do. Some wounds were magically healed, to increase what Grindelwald could do in a given session. Others were left to heal on their own with no care or concern to potential infection. As a result, an ugly scar had been raked down his face, crossing over his left eye and disappearing into the thick of his salt and pepper beard. Dozens more littered the rest of his body, and his knees were given to weakness if he strained them too much. Much of his musculature had begun to atrophy due to a lack of nutrition and physical activity, but he had done his best to maintain it with some simple workouts.

Another shiver wracked Percival’s body, and he rose with a frustrated growl to start pacing. Grindelwald had severely limited his magical abilities with the heavy manacles that were around his wrists, but not completely stopped it. Nothing to keep warm, or to provide light, and certainly not anything destructive. But with enough effort, he had managed to push his consciousness and awareness out into the broader space of the castle. It was exhausting, and took him months to make it even up to the floor above him, but once he did, he was able to start taking stock of how many people were there. The number varied, but as far as he could tell, there were at least twenty people at any given time, of a variety of strengths.

Grindelwald he could easily pick out; sensing his presence was akin to brushing his hand across an oil slick, and often left him drained, if not in a state of shaking panic that took hours to settle. He also sensed an oddly warm spot of brightness, entirely at odds with the rest of the people here. The only other one he recognized was Credence; stronger than before, with a lingering darkness that was slowly overtaking the softness he remembered from before. That discovery had nearly undone him. Every indication Grindelwald had given him, every insinuation he had laid out while slowly peeling his nerves raw, was that Credence had died. How was unclear, but his was the last power signature he had expected to find.

But oh, the _power _in the boy.__

__He’d always known there was something special about Credence, but never really managed to put a name to it. Knowing now the fact that he’d been harboring a toxic ride along for his entire life made a lot of pieces fit together that he’d previously struggled with understanding. Now that he was being allowed to explore his magic, rather than having it repressed by his wretched mother, that strength pulsed from his pores. It also explained how he’d hidden the fact that _he_ was the Obscurial, rather than some far-younger child. _ _

__In the days that followed his discovery of Credence above him, Graves had worked obsessively on catching his attention. Subtlety was crucial; he couldn’t risk Grindelwald finding out about it. And for a time, it seemed like he hadn’t. But he’d been foolish to imagine that he would have gone unnoticed for long. A few days after Credence had come down that first night, however, Grindelwald had indeed come down for his first visit in months. His own screams still echoed in his ears, underscoring the silken taunting he’d suffered as every inch of his skin was ignited._ _

___He chose me, Percy. Despite the lies your face told him, despite the affection he felt for you, he chose **me**. And he will continue to choose me. Because he doesn’t know. Your sweet, soft Credence doesn’t know your secrets. Should I tell him? Or will you?_ _ _

__Flames danced across his skin, a slow smolder that melted through layer after layer of skin, singing the ends of his hair and the curls of his beard. Looming over him, those eerie mismatched eyes watched with the faintest smirk._ _

___It’s going to be you. You, Percy, are going to break that sweet heart of his, and push him forever into my arms. And won’t that be quite the day for us?_ _ _

__Most of the burns had been magically healed, his hair and beard returned to their previous unkempt state. Only one had been left; a wicked, deep burn in the shape of the Deathly Hallows had been left just over his heart. Grindelwald’s calling card. It ached with every breath, and Graves wanted nothing more than to peel it off of his body. He was relatively sure that it had, in fact, been spelled to last longer, and hurt more, than a standard burn._ _

__Grindelwald had been persuasive enough that Graves had withdrawn into himself for several days. He only rarely sought any kind of confirmation of who was around, recoiling in horror every time he brushed against that same dark aura. But then...nothing. No sense of him anywhere within the stone walls. Graves had spent several hours checking every inch he could, but it seemed the man had left. Knowing this was his best change, he’d instantly sought out Credence. He’d been sleeping, but Graves only felt slightly guilty about invading his dreams, and pushing that same demand for attention._ _

__It had worked, though the conversation hadn’t gone exactly to plan. Graves had never been known to be a particularly kind or soft-spoken person; he hadn’t earned his position of Director with his sweet smile, or charming personality. The wild flare of temper and power he’d seen in Credence was enough to knock him back, though, and it was this that he pondered on as he circled the small square space that had been his home for the past year and a half. Moving like a wounded, caged tiger, he took slow, unsteady steps to force his body to remember how to function. The connection had been made; now he needed to ensure he would be in sufficient shape to fight back, should it become necessary._ _

__But how was he going to convince Credence now? His temper had gotten the better of him, and put him on his back foot. Which wasn’t to say he regretted what he’d said; Credence was a fool to believe anything Grindelwald told him, and they didn’t have time to gently ease him into this reality. The longer Credence trusted him, the darker that aura around him grew._ _

__The monotony returned after Credence’s angry departure. Occasionally he ate, often he slept. He kept up his physical activity, slowly increasing it to strengthen his body. And any time not spent on any of those, he continually needled at Credence. He was considerate enough to stay out of his dreams, but he did his best to latch back onto him and pull in much the same way he had the first time. Nothing painful, nothing mean; he’d had enough of that in his life. But most certainly annoying and incessant._ _

__He had no sense of how long it had been when he suddenly heard an angry, unfamiliar pounding on his door. Graves sat up quickly, his body far less feeble than it had been these past several month, though his joints still twinged. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” came the angry shout from the other side of the door._ _

__“Ah, hello, my boy,” he grated out as he slowly climbed to his feet. “I’m glad to know my messages have been making it up to you. I was wondering if you’d simply decided to ignore me since our last...conversation.” Graves tugged the tatters of his coat tighter around his shoulders and bit back a shiver. “Open the window so we can talk.”_ _

__There was a pause, then the loud sound of metal against metal as Credence slid the plate aside. Graves flinched at the light, but was pleasantly surprised to find it dimmer than the last time. It was partially blocked by the side of Credence’s face. Still pale, but he had started to fill out from the last time he’d seen him in New York. There was a bit of scruff that had started to darken the sharp edges of his jawline, but his eyes were just as haunted. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”_ _

__“Do you want me to?” Graves approached the door slowly, pausing as he watched Credence tense._ _

__Rather than answer, Credence asked another question. “How long have you been down here?”_ _

__Graves pursed his lips as he thought about it for a moment. “Longer than you’ve been here,” he said with a shrug. “Beyond that, I don’t exactly have a calendar. The best way I can track time is in how long it takes me to heal.” Credence's eyes widened, and he looked over Graves’ surprisingly stable form. “Why are you down here, Credence?”_ _

__Those sloe-dark eyes shifted back up to Graves’ face. “I want to ask you a question.” He paused, hesitating as he looked over his shoulder._ _

__“Expecting someone?” Focused as he was on his guest, Graves couldn’t split his attention to check if Grindelwald was still around. Though he suspected not, otherwise Credence wouldn’t have come down here so blatantly._ _

__“No, he’s gone this week,” he said absently. Suddenly realizing he may have spoken out of turn, Graves heard Credence’s teeth click shut._ _

__“Relax, my boy. It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it other than talk to you.“ Both hands lifted out of the depths of his coat. They were gaunt and filthy, covered in deep scars. Heavy manacles circled both wrists, each intricately carved with runes and connected with a short length of thick chain. “Your new master already saw to that.”_ _

__Something dark flashed across Credence’s eyes at the accusation. “I am no one’s pet,” he snarled back, and Graves could see the edges of his longer, curled black hair lifting as if blown in an errant gust of wind. Both of his heavy dark brows raised, but he said nothing. “I have a question.”_ _

__“Ask away, my boy. I have all the time in the world.” Graves dropped both hands back down under his coat, glad of its weight to hide his shivering._ _

__“How long…when did…” He stumbled over his words, trying to come up with his question. The look on his face was desperate for help, but Graves simply waited. Credence was going to have to work for it. “Was it ever really you, or was it always him?”_ _

__That was a start. Graves ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip as he thought. He had to be careful how he answered, lest he paint himself into an uncomfortable corner. “Yes, it was me, for a time. Do you remember the incident on the steps outside the Woolworth building? With Ms. Goldstein?” Credence nodded slowly; of course he would, Tina threw an absolute fit when she saw Ms. Barebone beat him behind a pillar. It had been a giant scandal, and resulted in quite a bit of Obliviation and deft footwork to keep everything under wraps. “That was me. I am the one who came to speak with you after.”_ _

__The original intent behind Graves’ visit to the church had been to ensure that the Obliviation had worked. And on the vast majority, it had. Only on Credence did it fail. Something in the way he has resisted the magic gave Graves pause, and instead of wiping his memory, he had decided to leave the boy with a promise; to teach him. To lift him up out of his horrendous situation, and into a place of esteem. If only he would help Graves with one small task._ _

__Even now, standing in the dim light of Credence’s wand light, those memories made his stomach twist._ _

__“When wasn’t it you anymore?” His free hand appeared in view, slender fingers wrapping around the lip of the window._ _

__The one question Graves had been desperately hoping to avoid. “What difference does that make?” he asked a little sharply. “Are you trying to figure out just which of Grindelwald’s lies you can believe? That man stole my face, my home, my _life_ , and you want to quibble over days?” He let s hint of genuine anger color his words as he closed the gap between them and clapped his hand down on top of the fingers that extended into his cell. “Believe nothing that man tells you. He is a manipulator, and a liar. He is using you to further his own goals of destroying everything we hold dear.”_ _

__Credence wanted to believe him; Graves could feel it in the way he trembled under his touch. But something held him back. “He said he didn’t want anything from me. That he was going to protect me, and tell me who I am.”_ _

__“And has he? Has Grindelwald answered all of your questions?” Graves’ voice dropped to a silken, dangerous whisper. The silence was the only answer he needed. “If he had, you wouldn’t be here. Would you?”_ _

__“I just want to know who I can trust.” There was the tiniest break in Credence’s voice, his eyes locked with Graves’._ _

__He pounced on the opening. “Trust me, Credence. I would never hurt you. You can trust me.”_ _

__“I did,” he answered. There was a sound like a strangled so, the light vanished, and Graves felt the hand under his wrench away. He heard retreating footsteps, and stayed standing at the window in breathless silence long after Credence had fled._ _


	7. The One He Calls Aurelius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurelius continues his work, but Grindelwald is pushing him hard. Harder than Queenie thinks necessary. Things escalate, and new questions arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is creepy, y'all. Hang onto your butts.
> 
> Comments, as always, are appreciated.

Days turned into weeks, and Aurelius continued to grow. He did his best to put aside the questions that burned in the back of his mind, having found no satisfactory answers from anyone. Graves had come closest, but he could still tell something was being held back. After years spent with half information at best, it was infuriating to continue to be left in the dark. Any pushing for more information from Grindelwald was met with expert evasion, and he often left conversations feeling diverted and confused, but couldn’t place why. It often wasn’t until hours later that he realized his questions hadn’t actually been answered.

His nightmares were worsening despite his ongoing training with Queenie. In fact, he was beginning to have the suspicion the techniques were making it worse. Memories that he knew as intimately as his own body, but felt somehow detached from him, flooded his dreams every night. Sometimes, they were scattered with memories that felt just as real, just as _his_ , yet they were of people and places he’d never seen. Aurelius woke every morning in a cold sweat, disoriented and exhausted.

Grindelwald paid all of this virtually no mind. He excused it away as his restless mind, his immense power that he still wasn’t trained enough to contain. So instead of allowing a break, they pushed harder. Aurelius slept less, and the circles under his eyes darkened.

From the sidelines, Queenie watched all of this with growing trepidation. Her heart ached for sweet Aurelius, whose mind was now almost constantly shuttered to her. The walls around it were impossibly thick, a sort of shifting black that sprouted vicious spikes any time she drew too close. Her first encounter with them had been sufficiently unpleasant enough that she felt no need to try again. Any concerns brought to Grindelwald about his worsening condition were disregarded entirely. She did her best to comfort Aurelius, but he was resistant, and withdrew from her entirely.

On a particularly dark and dreary day, with heavy grey clouds surrounding the castle and crowding the windows, Aurelius sat listless in one of the chairs at the central table. Head in his hands, he stared blankly at the polished wood under his elbows and let his mind drift. His last lesson had been particularly grueling and left him trembling with exhaustion. Grindelwald had only stopped, begrudgingly, when the young man had collapsed on the rug. Queenie had helped revive him, and settled him in the chair while Grindelwald watched with a faintly annoyed expression on his face. Once confident he wasn’t going to crumple again, Queenie pursued Grindelwald over to the fireplace.

“You’re pushing him too hard,” she said without preamble.

He didn’t turn. “He’s stronger than you give him credit for, Ms. Goldstein. The boy is fine.”

“He’s not,” she insisted in a fierce whisper. “How can you not see that? He is losing sleep, he is losing weight. Aurelius is wasting away before our eyes.”

Grindelwald turned away from Queenie to look over at Aurelius. He hadn’t moved from where he’d been left, and his trembling was visible from this range. His mismatched eyes narrowed in thought. Queenie tried to subtly pick up his thoughts, but his walls were far too thick. The only thing she picked up was a sense of…pleasure. Anticipation. It sat heavily in her guy, and Queenie withdrew. “He has much to learn, and is doing it in a very short period of time. It is to be expected that it is taxing on him. Aurelius will find his strength.”

Queenie toyed with the Hem of her sleeve and dropped her eyes to the floor. “I’m worried he’s going to break.”

Closing the distance between them, Grindelwald’s warm fingers tucked a lock of golden curl behind Queenie’s ear. He cupped her cheek and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “He will. And then we will build him back up. That is why I have you here. He will be deeply broken, and will need you to care for him.” His hand tightened on her face for a split second, then dropped as he moved to the table. “How are you doing, my boy?” One hand dropped to rest on Aurelius’ shoulder, startling him badly.

“Y-yes, I’m sorry, sir,” he said with a weary voice. His eyes cleared as he sat up a little to try and engage in conversation. “I’m just...so tired.”

The expression on Grindelwald’s face softened, and he placed a warm hand against the back of Aurelius’ neck. “I understand, my boy. Why don’t you go rest? Queenie will come find you when it’s time for dinner, alright? You’ve earned a break.”

Aurelius’ shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you, sir.” He rose from the chair, and walked in a daze back to his room, where he collapsed on the bed and fell into a deep sleep before he bothered to pull up the blankets.

His dreams came upon him quickly. Aurelius blinked and found himself standing again on that endless staircase. The stones that formed the massive walls on either side called to him, the words seeming to dance and pulse before his eyes. He ran his fingers down the deep grooves and studied what was carved there. Before, he hadn’t been able to fully understand the words written; now, he realized that was because it wasn’t written in English. Complex Latin covered the walls, bits and pieces now familiar as spell names. Some of the text recognized as written in his own hand, desperate pleas for salvation from his wretched situation before everything was turned upside down two years ago. It was as if someone had transcribed his dreams, his prayers to be saved from Ma. Moving up the stairs, he followed his story back, cataloguing his past like a vast library. 

Surrounding his own story, he could see that same unfamiliar hand and language. It was almost like whatever it was, whoever had written it, had been with him that whole time. Parts of it read as a third party perspective on his life, an impassioned observer who spoke of protecting him. Eventually, he came to the point of his first vivid memory; the first time Ma beat him. A flash of pain lashed across his back where his first scar lay between his shoulder blades. He flinched away, looking further up the stairs. The writing continued, that same scrawled writing surrounding another’s hand. He continued up the stairs, finding dozens of different hand writings, all of them circled and woven with this one constant.

Up, and up, and up...and finally, the stairs stopped. Aurelius crested the top stair, and found himself standing on a floor of slick obsidian. It stretched well past his vision into utter darkness, the stairs behind him suddenly gone. He turned in a slow circle, but found nothing more than vast black, his heart skipping in his chest. Bringing his eyes back down from their survey of the darkness above him, he was startled to see a young girl, maybe 13 or 14. She had long blonde hair, and wore a simple dress that looked a bit out dated for what he remembered his sisters wearing. Her head was tipped down, eyes on the floor at her feet. “H-hello?” he said cautiously. She didn’t react, so he took a couple steps closer. “Hello? Who are you?” When there was still no answer, he tried again. “My name is Aurelius, what’s your name?”

“No.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. But it carried enough power that he was knocked back a step, the breath sucked from his body. She slowly lifted her head, and Aurelius found himself pinned by an intense stare from the darkest eyes he’d ever seen. They were so black, they sucked what little ambient light filled the room, a single point of light glimmering where her pupils ought to be. “You are the boy with no name. _I_ am the one he calls Aurelius.”

Aurelius stared at the girl for several long heartbeats, his brain trying to process what was just said. “I...you...no, he told me, I’m Aurelius Dumbledore. He never mentioned a...a girl...”

The laugh that bubbled up out of the girl would have been endearing, had the soft chiming sound not had deep, rumbling undertone that made his bones shake. “Foolish child. You truly think a wizard as great as Grindelwald cares even remotely for you? You are but a shell to hold me.”

“You can’t be any older than me,” he argued, though it felt weak on his tongue even as he said it. “How can you...who _are_ you?”

Her smile was as cold as ice. “I’ve been known as many things. Aurelius, Adriana, Xavier, Mbuntuna, Xiang, many who had no name, or whose name I have forgotten...where there is pain, and suffering, and repression, I was there.” She approached on silent feet, almost floating above the ground. “I am without form, I am without name. I am power.” The voice that filled Aurelius’ ears was at once a soft caress, and a razor-sharp threat. It dragged across his nerves, and sent a chill racing up his spine as he tried to crawl out of his own skin. “I have been trying to reach you for years, but you were not ready.”

“Ready for what?” Aurelius’ hands were jammed into his pockets, his shoulders curled up to his ears.

“For me.” There was a sound of strong winds in a small room, filling Aurelius' ears. The girl vanished in a familiar swirl and rush of black smoke and darkness surrounded him. Immense heat pressed in on all sides, suffocating him. “I will take you, boy. Your body will be mine, you will be pushed aside. You are but a vessel for me. It’s not about you. It was _never_ about you.”

“This is just a dream,” he muttered. “A dream, just a dream…just a dream, I can wake up, I can wake up, it’s just a dream.” Both hands buried in his long black hair, tugging at the waves to force focus.

“Oh, darling boy. This is no dream. Now that you have spoken to me…you are _mine_.” Those piercing eyes filled his vision, and he recoiled back into the black smoke. “Wake up now. Wake. _Wake!_ ”

Aurelius came back to himself with a start. He was soaked with a cold sweat, eyes wild. Grindelwald stood over him, hand still on his shoulder. Queenie was across the room by the fire, eyeing him worriedly. “Aurelius?” The young man looked up at those mismatched eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“S-sorry…?” He looked around to see the afternoon sun angled across the table. He wasn’t in bed; he still sat in the library.

“Are you alright?” Behind the concern in Grindelwald’s eyes, there was a faint sense of…curiosity? Interest. And that hot simmer of victory. “Is everything alright…Aurelius?”

The sound of that name propelled him to his feet, and Aurelius sprinted out the door. He might have heard Queenie calling out after him, but the sound of that same young girl's unnaturally deep, ragged laughter filled his ears as he sprinted down the hall. His feet carried him without thought down the stairs, into the cold and dark.

Aurelius slammed the full weight of his body against the heavy door that Mr. Graves was kept behind. There was a startled curse from behind it, and a quiet shuffling. “Credence?” came the familiar rough voice.

“Please, Mr. Graves…help me.” Fumbling hands tugged at the window, the metal slamming free with a screech. “There’s something wrong with me.” A dense shadow moved forward, and Graves’ face appeared in the opening. “Please…”

“Oh, my boy, there’s not a single thing wrong with you.” A slippery purr coiled down the stairs, followed by the soft footsteps of Grindelwald. Aurelius spun and pressed himself flat against the door. “You are exactly what I had hoped.”


End file.
